


All Roads Lead Back To You

by min_T



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: But only a little, Confessions, Fix-It, Geralt struggles with words, If You Squint - Freeform, Internalized Homophobia, Jaskier has ADHD, M/M, but he figures it out, solution to Jaskier's eternal youth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-22 11:29:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22782226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/min_T/pseuds/min_T
Summary: "Haven't you noticed anything…" He gestures vaguely towards Jaskier's whole personage, rounding out in the general vicinity of his face. "That nothing changes?"Jaskier twitches, something niggling in his brain, inclining towards Geralt's meaning."I have an excellent skincare routine, which you've previously expressed a violent disinterest in, I might add," he stubbornly snaps, now anxious and jumpy for some reason, and avoiding the little voice in his head and whatever it’s trying to tell him, whatever it knows."Jaskier," Geralt huffs, like Jaskier is being purposefully obtuse. Maybe he is. "You aren't aging.""While I thank you for the compliment - and you can pass on my message to Yennefer to stuff it about my crows feet while you're at it," he blithely retorts, "I hardly see what that has to do with your wish, or what that has do with your...your weird, uncharacteristic mood, and your blasted secrets."+++A "what if" story wherein Geralt's wish bound him to a certain someone else as well.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 26
Kudos: 1793
Collections: Geralt is Sorry, Just.... So cute...





	All Roads Lead Back To You

**Author's Note:**

> imma be real, I have only watched the show so I'm particularly nervous about the accuracy of my Geralt portrayal, but I tried. 
> 
> this was a little plot bunny that hit me at like 1 am last night and I ended up banging nearly the whole thing out in one go, unfortunately for the longer wip I had already in progress lmao

It’s been months. Longer, even. Days of walking, endless walking, even without the witcher to follow anymore; flitting from town to town, too out of the habit of staying long in one place.  
  
Months of travelling alone, intermittent with performances of songs about the man who definitively booted Jaskier from his life, while he resolutely ignores the irony of how Geralt still manages to take up most of his own life without even being present in it.  
  
Not much is worse than the lonely drudgery of the open road, Jaskier thinks, with no one to listen to him babble; to play critic to the infantile stages of his new material, to banter with to pass the time. It’s endlessly brown and boring, and he brushes off the ever present throb of missing Geralt like a familiar old wound.  
  
He doesn’t think they’ll be strangers forever, not really, even with Geralt’s cruel words. Maybe it’s meaningless, but he’s had this feeling lately, like he always used to get: that he would see him again soon. He rather thinks it’s because he always used to be _looking_ for Geralt in the first place, but still; he’s been preparing.  
  
Not in any real, meaningful way, mind you, but he’s spent a good deal of time distracting himself from the blisters growing on his feet by holding imaginary conversations between himself and Geralt, building upon the idea of what he would say to him, how he would make him get on his knees and _beg_ for him to come back.  
  
...That part’s much more fantasy than expectation, really, but he tries not to dwell on that fact. He still smarts like he was abandoned just yesterday, so thinks he’s rather allowed such little indulgences.  
  
What he honestly expects is to run into Geralt like he would any other time, passing through some unnamed village, maybe even locking eyes in a tavern; Geralt would greet him, maybe with a grunt, or if it’s a special day, a roll of his eyes. He would likely expect Jaskier to follow after him, eager and totally forgetful of his most recent outburst of misdirected rage.  
  
It’s not the first time Geralt _has_ taken his anger out on Jaskier, but still; this was different. It's different and Jaskier fully intends to make that _clear,_ to make sure Geralt...make sure he...well, does _something_ better than merely _tolerate_ Jaskier’s presence, that’s for sure.  
  
If he can’t manage that much in penance, well, Jaskier figures he really is better off out of his life.  
  
The fear nags him though, the trepidation over the idea of that - a life without Geralt, who is too proud to be repentant, much less to admit to the depth of his mistake. Geralt is repressed enough, Jaskier knows, and his heart still feels entirely too raw to deal with that outcome, should it come to pass.  
  
He’s been careful, because of it. Every now and again, he gives a false name, or none at all. Some towns he hides his lute and merely passes on through, and takes care to never mention where he is going. As much as he misses the damn witcher, that fear keeps him using any trick at his disposal to leave himself as un-traceable as possible.  
  
Not that it matters much, he supposes; the last he heard, Geralt was intending to track down his child surprise, which leaves him to assume he can only be heading towards Cintra. It doesn’t ease the feeling any, though. He chooses towns at random, not heading in any real direction save _not Cintra_ , and yet somehow it seems as though he’s drawing nearer to something.  
  
The anticipation has him looking over his shoulder regularly, despite the uninterrupted view of trees, trees, rocks, trees, and forests, all blurring together in a meaningless, dreary swirl of more brown and dull green.  
  
He’s passing yet another unremarkable tree now, trudging down a dirt path to nowhere, a full day’s walk from his last meal and warm bed. He’s as bored as ever, but utterly uninspired; so he can’t even bring himself to fiddle with his lute along the way.  
  
A bird caws in the distance, and Jaskier throws a now practiced, cursory glance over his shoulder. Then he looks again, eye catching on something else on the horizon. A figure? It’s not unusual to see the odd traveler, but it still catches his breath in wondering, every time.  
  
The person on the path behind him is too far to really make out, but they’re walking, no horse in sight. Jaskier’s chest settles, satisfied, and he turns back around, paying them no mind. He checks the position of the sun, sighing to himself as he realizes he has a fair few more hours of daylight to walk before he should make camp.  
  
It’s relatively silent, for all of about an hour. Then his ears catch on the sound of pebbles knocking about, and a second pair of footsteps marching along, kicking up dust. To catch up so quickly, the stranger must be walking particularly fast, either that or they have incredibly long legs -  
  
Jaskier’s thoughts cut off as he swivels his head back around to see who is approaching.  
  
No. It couldn’t be. Not _here._  
  
But it is, because there is no mistaking that familiar gleam of sun on white hair, or the glint of yellow eyes. Jaskier's feet seem to stop of their own accord, and Geralt stands across from him, mimicking his stance.  
  
“Geralt,” Jaskier greets, unsure of what else to do, tongue cottony-thick in his mouth.  
  
“Jaskier,” Geralt responds back, inclining his head.  
  
Gods, this is almost surreal.  
  
“What are the odds, huh?” Jaskier manages with a wavering smile, unsure of what exactly is happening to him.  
  
“Hmm.” Geralt hums, like this is entirely ordinary. Like any other day.  
  
Geralt stares at him, only for a moment more; and then he continues walking, like Jaskier isn’t even there. Again, without any real decision on his part, Jaskier’s feet do what they want, kicking up a quick cloud to pad beside Geralt.  
  
Neither of them say anything, just move in the same direction. The sun hits Jaskier’s neck, and he can feel the sweat beading down it, nervousness focusing him on that one particular sensation with greater attention than he had moments ago.  
  
He doesn’t like it; the quiet makes his ears ring. It wasn’t as noticeable when he was all alone, but now that Geralt is beside him, the lack of talking to fill the space between them is _loud_ and makes him feel wrong . But what to say?  
  
Small talk, he decides. Small talk is a safe place to start.

"So...have you found your child surprise?" Jaskier throws out, the first thing he can think of. 

Geralt nods. 

Oh. Huh.

"She's with Yennefer."

"Yennefer?" Jaskier's voice pitches up in mild surprise. "I thought you two…?"

He trails off, because it's easier than addressing the whole incident that set Geralt off to lash out at him, the whole incident that's haunted his chest with aches, and cursed his fingers with motivation only for melancholy tunes, for all these months on end. 

"This was more important than that. Bigger." An unexpected series of emotions flash across Geralt's face. "Ciri's destiny is bigger than whatever... _issues_ we had between us."

 _Had_. The past tense hangs, sharp with Jaskier's sudden disappointment.

Jaskier stumbles a little, feeling thrown off balance and utterly unable to help his reaction. He laughs a little, stilted, to make up for the awkwardness of the motion. 

"Never thought I'd hear the day Geralt of Rivia acknowledged destiny."

Geralt allows a small, barely noticeable, rueful smile. "Ciri has forced me to acknowledge a lot of things I ought to have before."

Jaskier raises an eyebrow. "Well, that's just cryptic."

Geralt hums, familiar and infuriating. 

"Surely you're not just going to leave me hanging as to what all those things _are?_ "

Geralt looks more amused than anything at the prying, if Jaskier still retains any of his ability to read the witcher's vague, non-expressions; but he walks on, wordless.

Jaskier experiences the peculiar sensation of thinking that Geralt _wants_ him to follow. 

He struggles with himself for a moment. This is not how he imagined it playing out. Is everything in him crying out to chase after the man he's spent a better part of his life traipsing behind? Of course! But that doesn't mean he wants it to be so easy; a simple grunt, and he falls in line like a loyal little pup? That was _not_ the plan. 

But as Geralt keeps going, the distance between them growing, Jaskier's self control snaps, and he jump-starts into a brisk pace to catch up. If the damned witcher is going to be made to make it up to him, he can't very well do it if Jaskier himself is not present with him, he reasons out. 

When he gets close enough to slow back down to a reasonable speed, Geralt eyes him, but remains mute, and Jaskier doesn't know what else he expected.

"So," he decides to start, never one to let a silence stretch if he can help it. "Is that why we met again? Destiny?"

Geralt hums. "No. I was looking for you."

That stops Jaskier in his tracks now, and thankfully Geralt slows too.

"Why...why would you...no, hold on," Jaskier splutters, equal parts confused and curious, " _How_ did you even find me? I'm in the middle of nowhere! I've been doing pretty well not to leave a trail!"

Geralt inclines his head, something odd glinting in his eyes. "Maybe that part you can blame on destiny.”

He's gawping, there is no other word for it, jaw hanging down near to his chest. If he didn't know better he'd say the witcher was _teasing_ him, but Geralt looks bizarrely serious behind it all. 

"That sounds like something more likely for you to say to Yennefer," Jaskier finally responds, with only a hint of bitterness, because the thought pops into his head and, well, it's _true_. 

A flash of guilt troubles Geralt's expression, and Jaskier's heart starts beating irregularly at the thought of what _that_ could possibly mean. 

"...Geralt?"

Geralt heaves a sigh. "This isn't a conversation i meant to have on the road."

"You mean you set out _meaning_ to have a conversation?" Jaskier feels almost dizzy with the unexpected punches Geralt is throwing him. "Hold on, no, I'm not getting sidetracked. Tell me what you're talking about this instant, you've been quite cryptic enough for one day."

There's tension along the line of Geralt's body, and Jaskier is unsure if it's new or if he's only just noticing it. 

"I don't know - It's not - it's not easy. For me." Geralt mumbles out. He looks away from Jaskier, and Jaskier considers that it almost seems as if he's embarrassed. "I wanted the walk to think about how to say it."

Jaskier crosses his arms, patience quite run out, even if he's rather pleased at Geralt admitting to his fault. "I'm afraid you left me rather pissed off after our last encounter, and I'm not so inclined to make it easy on you. You owe me that much."

Geralt's jaw flexes, but he gives a terse nod. "I think...I think I owe you more than that."

Jaskier laughs, dryly. "I should say so."

"No." Geralt grunts out. "I mean there's...more. That you don't know."

Jaskier feels his control of the whole conversation slipping, a sense of foreboding gripping him, sliding unpleasantly underneath his skin. 

Geralt's brows mesh together, like he's concentrating deeply on something. For once, Jaskier can think of nothing to break the quiet, and prays Geralt opens his damn mouth sometime soon because he's growing more unsettled by the moment. 

"You…" Geralt begins, searching Jaskier's face for something. "You understood the nature of what happened, between me and Yennefer?"

Jaskier's stomach squirms with unease. "What, that she got angry at you because you used magic to bind your fates together?"

Geralt's face pinches a little like he's pained, and Jaskier figures the thought must hurt. 

"It wasn't…it's not exactly like that. I didn't wish to...be bound to her."

Jaskier's eyebrows are climbing upwards. "But i could have sworn-"

"My wish was for the binding of my fate to the fate of who i wanted _._ It was all I could think of in the moment that might spare her life, and protect it long term."

Jaskier frowns in confusion. "So you _did_ wish to be bound to her."

"I thought so at the time."

"What the hell are you getting at, then?"

Geralt grunts in frustration.

"Haven't you noticed anything…" He gestures vaguely towards Jaskier's whole personage, rounding out in the general vicinity of his face. "That nothing changes?"

Jaskier twitches, something niggling in his brain, inclining towards Geralt's meaning.

"I have an excellent skincare routine, which you've previously expressed a violent disinterest in, I might add," he stubbornly snaps, now anxious and jumpy for some reason, and avoiding the little voice in his head and whatever it’s trying to tell him, whatever it knows. 

"Jaskier," Geralt huffs, like Jaskier is being purposefully obtuse. Maybe he is. "You aren't _aging_."

"While I thank you for the compliment - and you can pass on my message to Yennefer to _stuff it_ about my crows feet while you're at it," he blithely retorts, "I hardly see what that has to do with your wish, or what _that_ has do with your...your weird, uncharacteristic mood, and your _blasted_ secrets."

Geralt is looking from exasperated to distinctly annoyed.

"I am trying to explain."

"Well you aren't doing a very good job of it!" Jaskier's voice pitches up, unsure of why he's egging him on.

"You aren't fucking _listening_!" Geralt explodes into a growl, teeth flashing. 

It doesn't particularly unsettle Jaskier, used to such displays, but Geralt quickly retreats back into himself as though it had, taking a steady breath and swiping back a few stray pieces of hair that have fallen into his face. 

There's a pause between them, and then two, and then -

"This is why I wanted time."

Jaskier swallows back his first instinct of a response, a snipe fueled by pettiness. No, he supposes, if he really wanted Geralt to say the right thing, he should have allowed him the time to piece it together. He's being unfair. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, but it’s genuine. 

Geralt glances at him and then away, then back at him again. "I'm - Me too." he grunts out, and Jaskier wants to check his ears, see if something is in there, tricking his hearing.

"You ' _too_ '...You're _apologizing_?" He throws an arm back in a visible display of shock, body arching in over-dramatics; but honestly, he thinks it's warranted. 

Geralt shifts on his feet like he'd really rather be anywhere else in the world right now, and Jaskier suddenly wonders what the hell he's even doing, stringing the witcher on like this.

He's been miserable for _months_ , pining and practically _withering away_ , and here Geralt is, stepping outside of his comfort zone twice over for him; first by seeking him out, then by saying words he thinks he perhaps has never uttered in his life (never mind that he hasn’t actually so much as said them.) It's more than Jaskier thinks he ever truly expected.

Jaskier smiles and scampers up to Geralt's side, closing the distance between them with an inexplicable feeling of light feet. "Thank you," he says, quietly, offering a cautious pat to his leather-clad arm. "If you're truly sorry, then...It's alright."

Geralt's mouth screws up, like he wants to be relieved, but can't. "No," he rebuts him. "You have to know what for. All of it. Or it means nothing."

The tension creeps back in Jaskier, all at once remembering what their conversation was about. If Geralt wants to apologize for it, is it something _worse_ than what he said to him on that mountain? He shudders to think.

"I'm not going to make excuses, but you should know why I...why I said what I did _._ " Geralt struggles out. 

Jaskier's previous smile grows morose. "I quite understand the instinct to lash out when you're hurt, you know. You don't have to."

Geralt grunts in the negative. "That's not...it, not exactly. I-"

He hesitates over his next words. 

"Yennefer made me see, made me understand my mistake. I was angry, at her, but also myself for fucking up, because she was right."

Jaskier nods, understanding. 

"She...ended things, left, but I let her go because I knew I had to. I couldn't keep her, knowing I had trapped her, without a choice. That's what I was thinking. When I yelled at you." The words tumble out, a little disjointed, like Geralt's struggling with piecing all the thoughts together and expressing them all at once.

Jaskier doesn't know what Geralt is thinking, or what he had possibly been thinking back then. "I was there by choice, I wasn't tagging along because some magic wish forced us to come together." He spells out for him, because _honestly_.

Instead of looking chastised, Geralt looks sad, like he knows better than Jaskier, like Jaskier is _wrong_. 

"Geralt," Jaskier starts, feeling miffed. "Just what the _fuck_ are you-"

"I thought my wish would only tie me to Yennefer," Geralt interrupts him, and Jaskier feels his pulse start racing, that voice in his head speaking up again. "I was wrong. I worded it all wrong. I was foolish and clumsy and I didn't realize...didn't know that I-"

Jaskier feels his legs wobble. "What did you say you wished for again?" he asks, rather weakly, knowing full well the implications of what Geralt is saying anyway without the clarification.

"I wished for my fate to be bound with the fate of who I wanted."

The full weight of that implication knocks Jaskier off his feet, tumbling him straight into the dirt and on his ass, without even a thought to how it would fare his velvet trousers. 

"Our fates tied, meaning yours is to the _entirety_ of mine, which is extended past a normal human's." Geralt continues anyway, not heeding Jaskier’s collapsed state, "Which would mean, tied to a human, they-"

"-wouldn't age," Jaskier finishes for him, eyes blown wide and pulse gone entirely erratic. 

His heart feels as though it's beating out of his chest, and he can hear his blood rushing in his ears. This can't possibly be real. What is he _saying?_ That he...he _cared_ for Jaskier enough that he accidentally made him, what, _immortal?_  
  
"You've got to be mistaken."

As far as revelations go, Geralt couldn't have shocked him with one better, speaking to the unattainable fantasies of his heart that had mocked him for the better part of decades - and it would make quite a few things start to make sense; but Jaskier simply can't _believe_ it.

"Geralt, we weren't even _friends_ , you said so! Insisted upon it, actually." If there’s a little panic edging into his voice, he ignores it.

"No," Geralt agrees, and Jaskier feels it like a slap to the face. "We weren't friends. I refused to let myself want anyone. You were a friend to me, but I wasn't in return." He confesses.

"I thought _wanting_ was something I could control, could choose." He spits with no small amount of resentment. "My wish proved otherwise, and it took until my vision was cleared of Yennefer to see how I...what I had-"

Geralt's words break off into another clench of his jaw, unable to finish.

Jaskier can't believe what he is hearing. It can't be _true._ Geralt must be lying to him.

But he considers his face, the face of his _friend_ , the man he's loved fruitlessly, to the ends of the world, and the ends of most of his pain. He remembers who Geralt is, and that Geralt does _not_ speak of feelings, much less expend the effort to lie about them.

He wants to ask him questions, so many things, and all at once.

"Why did you never-?" he barely manages to croak, half of a thought, from the tightness in his throat.

Geralt looks away from him, gaze landing on something in the distance as his fists clench by his sides. 

He can't know what the rest of Jaskier's question was, as Jaskier hardly knows what it would have been himself, but he continues to answer it anyway.

"I knew. I knew there was a link, but I couldn't confront it. I saw that you didn't age. I saw our paths cross, time and time again, and you didn't _age,_ and I knew, but I still. _Fuck._ I still couldn't acknowledge why." His hands flex before reforming back into fists. "Everything. everything in me was telling me it was wrong, that I couldn't want-"

"But Yennefer," Jaskier interrupts, because he saw no such hesitation towards _her._

"She was a _woman_ ," Geralt barks, with a vehemence that makes things slot a little more into place for Jaskier. "That was...It made it easier."

And Jaskier feels for him. He was there once, too, unable to find words for the peculiar feelings in his chest when he looked out his bedroom window at the well built stable boy, unfamiliar with himself and his body and the new feeling of _longing_. Not until he was away at university, with a schoolmate's hand down his pants, did he realize he didn't care much for what the world expected of him, deciding from then on to follow his heart first and foremost. And even still, he mostly only ever strayed into the beds of women, finding it much simpler, a much easier instinct to fall into than one he would have to hide around corners and in the shadows.

"Witchers aren't supposed to want." Geralt says, convicted shame evident in his voice. "I allowed myself to want her, and rejected the want of you, and tied you both - her unwillingly, and you unwittingly - to me, because of it. And I'm _sorry._ " The words finally break forth, clear and spoken aloud.

The picture finalizes for Jaskier. Geralt had wanted him - _wanted him,_ his inner voice rejoices! - but Geralt is a man, and wanting another man is confusing and difficult enough for _human_ men, much less witchers who are taught not to want at all. As a man and a witcher, it's far less an imposing prospect if his head gets turned by a powerful and beautiful woman. Expected anyway, perhaps. 

He never anticipated feeling for Geralt's side of things, after all these months of stewing and hurt, after being held at arm’s length for decades; and feeling so acutely for him at that, he thinks, staring at Geralt, as Geralt stares down in turn at his own feet - but he does, and he understands. And he wonders.

"Why now? Why are you telling me now? What changed?"

"Ciri," Geralt answers, without missing a beat. "I found her, and I knew. Destiny is not something you can outrun. You deserved to know where yours lay."

Geralt looks tired all of a sudden. Beaten in a way Jaskier has only seen once before, buried under a layer of heartbreak and anger as he yelled at him on a mountain top. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest.

"Geralt," he says, softly, trying to figure out where to even begin. "You realize that Yennefer still was able to choose to leave you, even if your fates were tied?"

Geralt just blinks at him.

"She made a choice. And you felt compelled to give me the same choice - to get away - but you didn't even stop to consider that you _were_ my choice, wish or not."

Geralt is stock still, unmoving, non expressive, but Jaskier still feels like he's managed to turn the tables.

"The realization that you've inadvertently trapped people can't be pleasant, i know; and _you_ know you can't hold on to them if they don't want you to. But you don't fix things by sending them off, either. You let them _choose._ "

"It's not a _choice_ if magic fated for it to be so!" Geralt growls, anger directed more inwardly than anything. 

"You utter buffoon!" Jaskier finally exclaims. "Fates be damned, Yennefer still chose to leave you, and it was my choice all along to stay! I was with you for years before you made any damn wish, and I was in love with you half that time as well! _Ha_! What half witted thing have you to say to that, now?"

There's more he wants to add, never one to stop while he's ahead, but he doesn't get the chance; his open mouth muffles the words into another, and he goes nearly cross-eyed staring down his own nose to see Geralt, pressing a kiss into his lips.

Geralt's eyes are closed, but his expression is earnest, intent; Jaskier's melts into him instantly and garbles out a wobbly sounding moan.

It's not the most romantic thing, Jaskier feeling unbalanced and unsure and desperate all at once; but his skin is on fire and it's all he can do to cling closer, still kneeling on the dirt road as Geralt bends over him.  
  
They break apart for air, and Jaskier tries not to feel embarrassed by the way his breath is heaving out of him. The separation doesn’t last long, taking only a glance at Geralt’s face, all too focused on his own, and he can’t help but yank him back down - destabilizing his footing, but not caring all too much as Geralt crashes to his knees - and the witcher's mouth meets his own again.  
  
He lets his hands roam freely, touching, carding through Geralt’s hair - his glorious, white hair that he’s itched to feel, just like this, for as long as he can remember. Geralt’s hands are braced on the ground, supporting himself where he landed, on either side of Jaskier’s hips, and one tentatively reaches up, finding Jaskier’s cheek and embracing him with a gentleness Jaskier doesn’t match with the owner.  
  
Geralt withdraws first this time, but he doesn’t pull back far; Jaskier opens his eyes to find the unrelenting gaze of Geralt’s own, half lidded but no less intense, and almost loses focus from how close they are, feeling slightly dazed.  
  
“We’re sitting in the dirt.” Jaskier observes, a hint of giddiness in his tone.  
  
“Hmm,” Geralt acknowledges, like he doesn’t particularly care, and pulls Jaskier’s forehead to rest against his.  
  
Jaskier huffs out a breathy laugh. “Not that I have any particular complaints, but I already possess quite the reputation. I’m not so sure you’ll be pleased if we get caught out by some unlucky traveler.”

Geralt frowns with a grunt, realizing with no small, visible amount of displeasure that Jaskier is right.  
  
He heaves himself back up onto his feet, patting his knees clean of dusty, brown marks, before looking down at Jaskier, still seated, and offering him a hand. Jaskier takes it, and Geralt pulls him up almost entirely with his own strength, which Jaskier finds _much_ more exciting than he had previously ever allowed himself to consider before.  
  
Geralt doesn’t let go of his hand once he’s standing, though, and pulls him none too slowly towards their previous destination, heading down the road faster than Jaskier’s natural speed. He can’t help the laugh that bubbles up.  
  
“Now, don’t get too enthusiastic, my dear witcher. I may have allowed you to kiss me -”  
  
“ _Allowed_ me to -?”  
  
“- but don’t think there’s not still grovelling in your future. I’ve been ruminating on this for far too long to pass the opportunity by, and I have more than one way I can think of for you to make it up to me.”  
  
Geralt’s disgruntled expression melts into one of lascivious curiosity. “Hm?”  
  
Jaskier throws him a mischievous smirk, and surreptitiously reaches for his lute with his free hand.  
  
“Bard,” Geralt intones, a warning in his voice.  
  
“Come now, it’s been ages since I’ve had any proper material to work with, and I’m sure the people would _love_ to hear about-”  
  
“Don’t even think about it.”  
  
Jaskier hums with a pleasant smile. Geralt will let him do it later, anyway, Jaskier thinks as he feels a small squeeze of his hand that feels like a promise of things soon to come.  
  
Even being near-dragged down the road, Jaskier feels happy, enjoying the view in a way he couldn’t earlier. The trees are a brighter green, the air is fresher, the birds are singing a little louder, and he’s not alone. Not anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> if this were a modern au Jaskier would have been sadly performing an acoustic version of Boulevard of Broken Dreams with a guitar in bars thank you for coming to my ted talk
> 
> anyway find me on [tumblr](http://jaskieralt.tumblr.com) or my slightly less active [twitter](https://twitter.com/bardwoIf), and I hope you enjoyed my first contribution to this fandom! keep an eye out for my next fic, and if I hit another writer's block I may just add on another chapter here of just smut :)


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